


you'll pull at my neck and we'll break what can't be broken.

by grxyish



Series: You set me free when no one else would listen [2]
Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Drinking, M/M, Sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-17 16:40:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20624198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grxyish/pseuds/grxyish
Summary: The team takes him out partying. Usually, it is not team business to go out and entertain the winner, but tonight is different. They had just won the championship, both Max himself and the team having something to celebrate





	you'll pull at my neck and we'll break what can't be broken.

**Author's Note:**

> What? Who am I? This isn't angst? Hmm.  
This story arc won't leave me alone and I have so many ideas for what stories I want to tell with these characters. It is all a mess in my head. 
> 
> No real warnings this time.

  
  


Max wins the championship on a particularly boring race-day. No unforgiving weather conditions, no crashes and barley any exciting overtaking. All and all, it would have been a race just like any other, had it not been for the fact that Max  _ finally _ gathered enough points to seal the title of World Champion. 

It had been a tight year, with lots of talented drivers and rules that made it easier for anyone to have a shot at winning. Max had to fight time and time again to win races and he loved it. The sport was nothing without fighting and it was a good way to show people that he was a good driver, not just a kid who got lucky by getting a seat in one of the richer teams. The season giving him the chance to be challenged and  _ still  _ get out on top of the fight. 

Max remembers next to nothing of the post-race interview or the podium, too excited after having already been told he had won- that he had enough points to beat both his teammate and his constant  (lover) rival Charles. He stumbled his way through the regular race questions and the congratulations being showered over him, heart running wild with the adrenaline and happiness, barely remembering how to speak English. 

The team takes him out partying. Usually, it is not team business to go out and entertain the winner, but tonight is different. They had just won the championship, both Max himself and the team having something to celebrate. Their first victory in years. They end up at a private bar, one that had been booked with cautious hopefulness the night before.    
  
People come up to him during the entire evening, wanting to congratulate him and bask in the glory he’s radiating. It’s fun. Max gets drunker than he has in a long time, his glass with champagne continuously getting filled up as he empties it. At some point, it is exchanged for shot glasses and he throws back the burning liquor whilst yell-cheering with some of the junior strategists by the bar. The star of the evening was him, and he absolutely adored it. 

It takes a while for the other drivers to show up (the ones he wanted there at least), having been stuck in media duty or off celebrating with their respective teams. Suddenly he’s lifted up off the ground and spun around, despite the compact group of people gathered around, the same people who now were sending death glared towards his capturer. 

“Fucking hell Max! Good job, you lil’ beast” Max finally recognised whom it was who had invaded his space. As he was let down, he was suddenly standing face to face with his former teammate and (still) close friend, Daniel. A friend who carried another bottle of champagne that he absolutely had to share with Max -  _ anything else would not be fair, Maxy. We all want to share with the winner _ . Once his glass had been filled up yet another time, he was embraced once more, and then again and again. His fellow drivers all coming up to hug, clap, shake and congratulate him. Once they were through everyone, Max’s head was spinning and he was starting to wonder if that vodka shot Valtteri had shared with him had been one too much. 

Someone was missing though.    
  
“Where’s…?” the word had barely left his mouth before he spotted the missing puzzle piece of the evening. Walking towards him, dark hair tied up in one of those ridiculous bandanas, outfit hugging his muscles (that he had finally started to get back), was his number one pick, the one person he wanted to have there, his boyfriend. 

“Ma chérie, congratulation” Max could barely hear what he was saying, being completely focused on his lover's cheery expression. His usually sad (or at least guarded) eyes were sparkling, filled with happy stars. It was almost more intoxicating than the alcohol flowing through his veins and that happiness was because of  _ him. _ Charles was happy because  _ Max had _ won the Formula One title. Screw thinking that Charles might be more intoxicating than alcohol, he  _ was _ . 

Max stumbled forwards, movements sluggish, right into Charles’ arms, wrapping his limbs around the other, pressing their mouths together. Their relationship was not a secret, at least not in the F1-circus. They had not been good with keeping their hands to themselves and often showed up in each other's motorhomes. It would have been silly to even try to keep it a secret, besides, it was nice to have somewhere other than their homes where they did not need to hide. 

Wolf whistling could be heard as their mouths slid together, tongues moving with no care that anyone could be watching. Not that Max cared, this was his night, he could do whatever he wanted to do. The body pressed against his felt good, a solid presence, hands sliding down his back and up his ribs. 

Charles pulled back after a bit, much to Max’s despair. If he could have chosen, they would have stayed like that for the rest of the night. Should stay like that, really, it  _ was _ his night, still. 

  
“I can’t believe you won before me” his voice teasing, eyes still kind when they locked with Max’s. Max could not really believe it either, Charles was amazing. Not that he himself wasn’t but - details. 

“Mmh, ’m a bett…-er driver t-than you” he was slurring, the alcohol definitely clouding his brain at this point. It had been a while since they actually had that conversation, for real. Agreeing upon the fact that they had different driving styles, making it hard to tell who had the better one. Of course, that did not stop them from bantering about it from time to time. 

Charles rolled his eyes, but let him have the argument. Probably realizing that Max was too drunk and too filled with the rush of adrenaline to care. Instead, he grabbed Max’s hand, pulling him towards the dance floor, where Max could see the rest of his friends having a good time. 

This was his night. The one night that meant everything to him and his career and sharing it with the dark-haired man holding his hand made everything even better. It was Max’s night. He was on top of the world, finally the champion of the sport he had dedicated so many years of his life to. He was happy. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please, feel free to come talk to me about F1 (or zelda, or music) on tumblr. My username is yxllowish :) 
> 
> Title of the fic comes from Kissaphobic by Make Out Monday


End file.
